The metaphysical problem of human freedom might be summarized in the following way: "Human beings are responsible agents; but this fact appears to conflict with a deterministic view of human action (the view that every event that is involved in an act is caused by some other event); and it also appears to conflict with an indeterministic view of human action (the view that the act, or some event that is essential to the act, is not caused at all)." To solve the problem, I believe, we must make somewhat far-reaching assumptions about the self of the agent — about the man who performs the act.

Perhaps it is needless to remark that, in all likelihood, it is impossible to say anything significant about this ancient problem that has not been said before.*

The general position to be presented here is suggested in the following writings, among others: Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics, Book II, Ch. 6, Nichomachean Ethics, Book III, Chapters 1-5; Thomas Reid, Essays on the Active Powers of Man; C. A. Campbell, "Is `Free Will' a Pseudo-Problem?," Mind, LX (1951), 441-465; Roderick M. Chisholm, "Responsibility and Avoidability," in Sidney Hook, ed., Determinism and Freedom in the Age of Modern Science (New York, 1958), and Richard Taylor, "Determinism and the Theory of Agency," in Sidney Hook, ed., Determinism and Freedom in the Age of Modern Science (New York, 1958)•

Let us consider some deed, or misdeed, that may be attributed to a responsible agent: one man, say, shot another. If the man was responsible for what he did, then, I would urge, what was to happen at the time of the shooting was something that was entirely up to the man himself. There was a moment at which it was true, both that he could have fired the shot and also that he could have refrained from firing it. And if this is so, then, even though he did fire it, he could have done something else instead. (He didn't find himself firing the shot "against his will," as we say.) I think we can say, more generally, then, that if a man is responsible for a certain event or a certain state of affairs (in our example, the shooting of another man), then that event or state of affairs was brought about by some act of his, and the act was something that was in his power either to perform or not to perform.

But now, if the act which he did perform was an act that was also in his power not to perform, then it could not have been caused or determined by any event that was not itself within his power either to bring about or not to bring about. For example, if what we say he did was really something that was brought about by a second man, one who forced his hand upon the trigger, say, or who, by means of hypnosis, compelled him to perform the act, then, since the act was caused by the second man, it was nothing that was within the power of the first man to prevent. And precisely the same thing is true, I think, if instead of referring to a second man who compelled the first one, we speak instead of the desires and beliefs which the first man happens to have had. For if what we say he did was really something that was brought about by his own beliefs and desires, if these beliefs and desires in the particular situation in which he happened to have found himself caused him to do just what it was that we say he did do, then, since they caused it, he was unable to do anything other than just what he did do. It makes no difference whether the cause of the deed was internal or external: if the cause was some state or event for which the man himself was not responsible, then he was not responsible for what we have been mistakenly calling his act. If a flood caused the poorly structured dam to break, then, given the flood and the constitution of the dam, the break, we may say, had to occur and nothing could have happened in its place. And if the flood of desire caused the weak-willed man to give in, then he, too, had to do just what it was that he did do and he was no more responsible than was the dam for the results that followed.

(It is true, of course, that if the man is responsible for the beliefs and desires that he happens to have, then he may also be responsible for the things they lead him to do. But the question now becomes: is he responsible for the beliefs and desires he happens to have? If he is, then there was a time when they were within his power either to acquire or not to acquire, and we are left, therefore, with our general point.)

One may object: But surely if there were such a thing as a man who is really good, then he would be responsible for things that he would do; yet, he would be unable to do anything other than just what he does do, since, being good, he will always choose to do what is best. The answer, I think, is suggested by a comment that Thomas Reid* makes upon an ancient author. The author had said of Cato, "He was good because he could not be otherwise," and Reid observes: "This saying, if understood literally and strictly, is not the praise of Cato, but of his constitution which was no more the work of Cato than his existence.' If Cato was himself responsible for the good things that he did, then Cato, as Reid suggests, was such that, although he had the power to do what was not good, he exercised his power only for that which was good.

All of this, if it is true, may give a certain amount of comfort to those who are tender-minded. But we should remind them that it also conflicts with a familiar view about the nature of God — with the view that St. Thomas Aquinas expresses by saying that "every movement both of the will and of nature proceeds from God as the Prime Mover." * If the act of the sinner did proceed from God as the Prime Mover, then God was in the position of the second agent we just discussed — the man who forced the trigger finger, or the hypnotist — and the sinner, so-called, was not responsible for what he did. (This may be a bold assertion, in view of the history of western theology, but I must say that I have never encountered a single good reason for denying it.)

* St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, First Part of the Second Part, Question VI ("On the Voluntary and Involuntary").

There is one standard objection to all of this and we should consider it briefly.
The objection takes the form of a stratagem — one designed to show that determinism (and divine providence) is consistent with human responsibility. The stratagem is one that was used by Jonathan Edwards and by many philosophers in the present century, most notably, G. E. Moore.

(b) If he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done otherwise.

(In place of "chosen," one might say "tried," "set out," "decided," "undertaken," or "willed.") The truth of statement (b), it is then pointed out, is consistent with determinism (and with divine providence); for even if all of the man's actions were causally determined, the man could still be such that, if he had chosen otherwise, then he would have done otherwise. What the murderer saw, let us suppose, along with his beliefs and desires, caused him to fire the shot; yet he was such that if, just then, he had chosen or decided not to fire the shot, then he would not have fired it. All of this is certainly possible. Similarly, we could say, of the dam, that the flood caused it to break and also that the dam was such that, if there had been no flood or any similar pressure, then the dam would have remained intact. And therefore, the argument proceeds, if (b) is consistent with determinism, and if (a) and (b) say the same thing, then (a) is also consistent with determinism; hence we can say that the agent could have done otherwise, even though he was caused to do what he did do; and therefore determinism and moral responsibility are compatible.

Is the argument sound? The conclusion follows from the premises, but the catch, I think, lies in the first premise — the one saying that statement (a) tells us no more nor less than what statement (b) tells us. For (b), it would seem, could be true while (a) is false. That is to say, our man might be such that, if he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done otherwise, and yet also such that he could not have done otherwise. Suppose, after all, that our murderer could not have chosen, or could not have decided, to do otherwise. Then the fact that he happens also to be a man such that, if he had chosen not to shoot he would not have shot, would make no difference. For if he could not have chosen not to shoot, then he could not have done anything other than just what it was that he did do. In a word: from our statement (b) above ("If he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done otherwise"), we cannot make an inference to (a) above ("He could have done otherwise"), unless we can also assert:

(c) He could have chosen to do otherwise.

And therefore, if we must reject this third statement (c), then, even though we may be justified in asserting (b), we are not justified in asserting (a). If the man could not have chosen to do otherwise, then he would not have done otherwise — even if he was such that, if he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done otherwise.

The stratagem in question, then, seems to me not to work, and I would say, therefore, that the ascription of responsibility conflicts with a deterministic view of action.
Perhaps there is less need to argue that the ascription of responsibility also conflicts with an indeterministic view of action — with the view that the act, or some event that is essential to the act, is not caused at all.

If the act — the firing of the shot — was not caused at all, if it was fortuitous or capricious, happening so to speak "out of the blue," then, presumably, no one — and nothing — was responsible for the act. Our conception of action, therefore, should be neither deterministic nor indeterministic. Is there any other possibility?

We must not say that every event involved in the act is caused by some other event, and we must not say that the act is something that is not caused at all. The possibility that remains, therefore, is this: We should say that at least one of the events that are involved in the act is caused, not by any other events, but by something else instead. And this something else can only be the agent — the man.

If there is an event that is caused, not by other events, but by the man, then there are some events involved in the act that are not caused by other events. But if the event in question is caused by the man, then it is caused and we are not committed to saying that there is something involved in the act that is not caused at all.

But this, of course, is a large consequence, implying of considerable importance about the nature of the agent or the man.

If we consider only inanimate natural objects, we may !.say that causation, if it occurs, is a relation between events or states of affairs. The dam's breaking was an event that was caused by a set of other events — the dam being weak, the flood being strong, and so on. But if a man is responsible for a particular deed, then, if what I lave said is true, there is some event, or set of events, that is caused, not by other events or states of affairs, but by the man himself, by the agent, whatever he may be.

I shall borrow a pair of medieval terms, using them, perhaps, in a way that is slightly different from that for which they were originally intended. I shall say that when one event or state of affairs (or set of events or states of affairs) causes some other event or state of affairs, then we have an instance of transeunt causation. And I shall say that when an agent, as distinguished from an event, causes an event or state of affairs, then we have an instance of immanent causation.

The nature of what is intended by the expression "immanent causation" may be illustrated by this sentence from Aristotle's Physics: "Thus, a staff moves a stone, and is moved by a hand, which is moved by a man." (VII, 5, 256a, 6-8) If the man was responsible, then we have in this illustration a number of instances of causation — most of them transeunt, but at least one of them immanent. What the staff did to the stone was an instance of transeunt causation, and thus we may describe it as a relation between events: "the motion of the staff caused the motion of the stone." And similarly for what the hand did to the staff: "the motion of the hand caused the motion of the staff." And, as we know from physiology, there are still other events which caused the motion of the hand. Hence we need not introduce the agent at this particular point, as Aristotle does — we need not, though we may. We may say that the hand was moved by the man, but we may also say that the motion of the hand was caused by the motion of certain muscles; and we may say that the motion of the muscles was caused by certain events that took place within the brain. But some event, and presumably one of those that took place within the brain, was caused by the agent and not by any other events.

There are, of course, objections to this way of putting the matter; I shall consider the two that seem to me to be most important.

One may object, firstly: "If the man does anything, then, as Aristotle's remark suggests, what he does is to move the hand. But he certainly does not do anything to his brain — he may not even know that he has a brain. And if he doesn't do anything to the brain, and if, as physiology seems to tell us, the motion of the hand was caused by something that happened within the brain, then there is no point in appealing to 'immanent causation' as being something incompatible with 'transeunt causation' — for the whole thing, after all, is a matter of causal relations among events or states of affairs. The motion of the hand was caused by the brain and not by the man."

The answer to this objection, I think, is this: It is true that the agent does not do anything, with his brain, or to his brain, in the sense in which he does something with his hand and does something to the staff. But from this it does not follow that the agent was not the immanent cause of something that happened within his brain.

We should note a useful distinction that has been proposed by, Professor A. I. Melden— namely, the distinction between "making something A happen" and "doing A."* If I reach for the staff and pick it up, then one of the things that I do is just that — reach for the staff and pick it up. And if it is something that I do, then there is a very clear sense in which it may be said to be something that I know that I do. If you ask me, "Are you doing something, or trying to do something, with the staff?," I will have no difficulty in finding an answer. But in doing something with the staff, I also make various things happen which are not in this same sense things that I do: I will make various air-particles move; I will free a number of blades of grass from the pressure that had been upon them; and I may cause a shadow to move from one place to another. If these are merely things that I make happen, as distinguished from things that I do, then I may know nothing whatever about them; I may not have the slightest idea that, in moving the staff, I am bringing about any such thing as the motion of air-particles, shadows, and blades of grass.

* A. I. Melden, Free Action (London, ig6i), especially Chapter Three. Mr. Melden's own views, however, are quite the contrary of those that are proposed here.

We may say, in answer to the first objection, therefore, that it is true that our agent does nothing to his brain or with his brain; but from this it does not follow that the agent is not the immanent cause of some event within his brain; for the brain event may be something which, like the motion of the air-particles, he made happen in picking up the staff. The only difference between the two cases is this: in each case, he made something happen when he picked up the staff; but in the one case — the motion of the air-particles or of the shadows — it was the motion of the staff that caused the event to happen; and in the other case — the event that took place in the brain — it was this event that caused the motion of the staff.

The point is, in a word, that whenever a man does something A, then (by "immanent causation") he makes a certain cerebral event happen, and this cerebral event (by "transeunt causation") makes A happen.

The second objection is more difficult, and it concerns the very concept of "immanent causation," or causation by an agent, as this concept is to be interpreted here. The concept is subject to a difficulty which has long been associated with that of the prime mover unmoved. We have said that there must be some event A, presumably some cerebral event, which is caused not by any other event, but by the agent. Since A was not caused by any other event, then the agent himself cannot be said to have undergone any change or produced any other event (such as "an act of will" or the like) which brought A about. For if the cerebral event is caused by some change within the agent, then it is caused by an event and we have lost the solution to our problem. But now: if, when the agent made A happen, there was no event involved other than A itself, no event which could be described as making A happen, what did the agent's causation consist of? What, for example, is the difference between A's just happening, and the agent's causing A to happen? We cannot attribute the difference to any event that took place within the agent. And so far as the event A itself is concerned, there would seem to be no discernible difference — no discernible difference between A just happening and the agent causing A to happen. Thus Aristotle said that the activity of the prime mover is nothing in addition to the motion that it produces, and Suarez said that "the action is in reality nothing but the effect as it flows from the agent." * Must we conclude, then, that there is no more to the man's action in causing event A than there is to the event A's happening by itself? Here we would seem to have a distinction without a difference — in which case we have failed to find a via media between a deterministic and an indeterministic view of action.

The only answer, I think, can be this: that the difference between the man's causing A, on the one hand, and the event A just happening, on the other, lies in the fact that, in the first case but not the second, the event A was caused and was caused by the man. There was a brain event A; the agent did, in fact, cause the brain event; but there was nothing that he did to cause it.

This answer may not entirely satisfy and it will be likely to provoke the following question: "But what are you really adding to the assertion that A happened when you utter the words 'The agent caused A to happen'?" As soon as we have put the question this way, we see, I think, that whatever difficulty we may have encountered is one that may be traced to the concept of causation generally — whether "immanent" or "transeunt." The problem, in other words, is not a problem that is peculiar to our conception of human action. It is a problem that must be faced by anyone who makes use of the concept of causation at all and therefore, I would say, it is a problem for everyone but the complete indeterminist.

For the problem, as we put it, referring just to "immanent causation," or causation by an agent, was this: "What is the difference between saying, of an event A, that A just happened and saying that someone caused A to happen?" The analogous problem, which holds for "transeunt causation," or causation by an event, is this:
"What is the difference between saying, of two events A and B, that B happened and then A happened, and say- ing that B's happening was the cause of A's happening?"' And the only answer that one can give is this — that in the one case the agent was the cause of A's happening, and in the other case event B was the cause of A's happening. The nature of transeunt causation is no more clear than is that of immanent causation. In short, as long as we talk about causation at all (and we cannot avoid it) the difficulty is one that we will have on our hands. It is not a difficulty that is peculiar, therefore, to our treatment of the problem of freedom.

But we may plausibly say — and there is a respectable philosophical tradition to which we may appeal — that the notion of immanent causation, or causation by an agent, is in fact more clear than that of transeunt causation, or causation by an event, and that it is only by understanding our own causal efficacy, as agents, that we can grasp the concept of cause at all. Hume may be said to have shown that we do not derive the concept of cause from what we perceive of external things. How, then, do we derive it? The most plausible suggestion, it seems to me, is that of Reid, once again: namely that "the conception of an efficient cause may very probably be derived from the experience we have had . . . of our own power to produce certain effects."* If we did not understand the concept of immanent causation, we would not understand that of transeunt causation.

* Reid, op. cit., Works, p. 524

It may have been noted that I have avoided the term "free will" in all of this. For even if there is such a faculty as "the will," which somehow sets our acts a-going, the question of freedom, as John Locke said, is not "the question whether the will be free"; it is the question "whether a man be free."* For if there is a "will," as a moving faculty, the question is whether the man is free to will to do those things that he does will to do — and also whether he is free not to will any of those things that he does will to do, and, again, whether he is free to will any of those things that he does not will to do. Jonathan Edwards tried to restrict himself to the question — "Is the man free to do what it is that he wills?" — but the answer to this question will not tell us whether the man is responsible for what it is that he does will to do. Using still another pair of medieval terms, we may say that the metaphysical problem of freedom does not concern the actus imperatus: it does not concern the question whether we are free to accomplish whatever it is that we will or set out to do; it concerns the actus elicitus, the question whether we are free to will or to set out to do those things that we do will or set out to do. It is one thing to ask whether the things that a man wills are things that are within his power: this is the problem of the actus imperatus. It is quite a different thing to ask whether his willing itself is something that is within his power: this is the problem of the actus elicitus. And this latter — the problem of the actus elicitus — is the problem, not of the freedom of the will, but of the freedom of the man.

If we are responsible, and if what I have been trying to say is true, then we have a prerogative which some would attribute only to God: each of us, when we act, is a prime mover unmoved. In doing what we do, we cause certain events to happen, and nothing — or no one — causes us to cause those events to happen.

If we are thus prime movers unmoved and if our actions, or those for which we are responsible, are not causally determined, then they are not causally determined by our desires. And this means that the relation between what we want or what we desire, on the one hand, and what it is that we do, on the other, is not as simple as most philosophers would have it.

We may distinguish between what we might call the "Hobbist approach" and what we might call the "Kantian approach" to this question. The Hobbist approach is the one that is generally accepted at the present time, but the Kantian approach, I believe, is the one that is true. According to Hobbism, if we know, of some man, what his beliefs and desires happen to be and how strong they are, if we know what he feels certain of, what he desires more than anything else, and if we know the state of his body and what stimuli he is being subjected to, then we may deduce, logically, just what it is that he will do - or, more accurately, just what it is that he will try, set out, or undertake to do. Thus Professor Melden has said that "the connection between wanting and doing is logical."*

* Melden, op. cit., p. 166.

But according to the Kantian approach to our problem, and this is the one that I would take, there is no such logical connection between wanting and doing, nor need there even be a causal connection. No set of statements about a man's desires, beliefs, and stimulus situation at any time implies any statement, telling us what the man will try, set out, or undertake to do at that time. As Reid put it, "Though we may reason from men's motives to their actions and, in many cases, with great probability," we can never do so "with absolute certainty."*

* Reid, op. cit., Works, pp. 608, 612.

This means that, in one very strict sense of the terms, there can be no complete science of man. If we think of science as a matter of finding out what laws happen to hold, and if the statement of a law tells us what kinds of events are caused by what other kinds of events, then there will be human actions that we cannot explain by subsuming them under any laws. We cannot say, "It is causally necessary that, given such and such desires and beliefs, and being subject to such and such stimuli, the agent will do so and so." For at times the agent, if he chooses, may rise above his desires and do something else instead.

But all of this is consistent with saying that, perhaps more often than not, our desires do exist under conditions such that those conditions necessitate us to act. And we may also say, with Leibniz, that at other times our desires may "incline without necessitating."

Leibniz's phrase presents us with still another philosophical problem. What does it mean to say that a desire, or a motive, might "incline without necessitating"? There is a temptation, certainly, to say that "to incline" means to cause and that "not to necessitate" means not to cause, but obviously we cannot have it both ways.

Nor will Leibniz's own solution do. In his letter to Coste, he puts the problem as follows: "When a choice is proposed, for example to go out or not to go out, it is a question whether, with all the circumstances, internal and external, motives, perceptions, dispositions, impressions, passions, inclinations taken together, I am still in a contingent state, or whether I am necessitated to make the choice, for example, to go out; that is to say, whether this proposition, true and determined in fact, In all these circumstances taken together I shall choose to go out, is contingent or necessary."*

Leibniz's answer might be put as follows: in one sense of the terms "necessary" and "contingent," the proposition "In all these circumstances taken together I shall choose to go out," may be said to be contingent and not necessary, and in another sense of these terms, it may be said to be necessary and not contingent. But the sense in which the proposition may be said to be contingent, according to Leibniz, is only this: there is no logical contradiction involved in denying the proposition. And the sense in which it may be said to be necessary is this: since "nothing ever occurs without cause or determining reason," the proposition is causally necessary. "Whenever all the circumstances taken together are such that, the balance of deliberation is heavier on one side than on the other, it is certain and infallible that that is the side that is going to win out." But if what we have been saying is true, the proposition "In all these circumstances taken together I shall choose to go out" may be causally as well as logically contingent. Hence we must find another interpretation for Leibniz's statement that our motives and desires may incline us, or influence us, to choose without thereby necessitating us to choose.

Let us consider a public official who has some moral scruples but who also, as one says, "could be bad." Because of the scruples that he does have, he would never take any positive steps to receive a bribe — he would not actively solicit one. But his morality has its limits and he is also such that, if we were to confront him with a fait accompli or to let him see what is about to happen ($10,000 in cash is being deposited behind the garage), then he would succumb and be unable to resist. The general situation is a familiar one and this is one reason that people pray to be delivered from temptation. (And it also justifies Kant's remark: "How many there are who may have led a long blameless life, who are only fortunate in having escaped so many temptations."*

* In the Preface to the Metaphysical Elements of Ethics, in T. K. Abbott, ed., Kant's Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics (London, 2959), p. 303

Our relation to the misdeed that we contemplate may not be a matter simply of our being able to bring it about or not to bring it about. As St. Anselm noted, there are at least four possibilities. We may illustrate them, by reference to our public official and the event which is his receiving the bribe, in the following way:
(i) he may be able to bring the event about himself (facere esse), in which case he would actively cause himself to receive the bribe;
(ii) he may be able to refrain from bringing it about himself (non facere esse), in which case he would not himself do anything to insure that he receive the bribe;
(iii) he may be able to do something to prevent the event from occurring (facere non esse), in which case he would make sure that the $10,000 was not left behind the garage; or
(iv) he may be unable to do anything to prevent the event from occurring (non facere non esse), in which case, though he may not solicit the bribe, he would allow himself to keep it. We have envisaged our official as a man who can resist the temptation to (i) but cannot resist the temptation to (iv) : he can refrain from bringing the event about himself, but he cannot bring himself to do anything to prevent it.

* Cf. D. P. Henry, "Saint Anselm's De 'Grammatico'," Philosophical Quarterly, X (1960), 115-126. St. Anselm noted that (i) and (iii), respectively, may be thought of as forming the upper left and the upper right corners of a square of opposition, and (iv) and (ii) the lower left and the lower right.

Let us think of "inclination without necessitation," then, in such terms as these. First we may contrast the two propositions;

(1) He can resist the temptation to do something in order to make A happen;
(z) He can resist the temptation to allow A to happen (i.e., to do nothing to prevent A from happening).

We may suppose that the man has some desire to have A happen and thus has a motive for making A happen. His motive for making A happen, I suggest, is one that necessitates, provided that, because of the motive, (i) is false: he cannot resist the temptation to do something in order to make A happen. His motive for making A happen is one that inclines, provided that, because of the motive, (2) is false: like our public official, he cannot bring himself to do anything to prevent A from happening. And therefore we can say that his motive for making A happen is one that inclines but does not necessitate, provided that, because of the motive, (i) is true and (2) is false; he can resist the temptation to make it happen but he cannot resist the temptation to allow it to happen...